Archive of Our Own

It isn't that she's completely oblivious, really! Mel knows she's missing something half the time people talk to her. She knows all the signs: the frown, the furrowed brow, the subtle shake of the head that tells her she interpreted something wrong. She's not an idiot, she knows social interpretation isn't her strong suit. It's just, she has no clue what to actually do about it. 

The whole point of residing at PTMC is to learn. Mel throws herself into the effort. It's only fair to make the most of things while she's in a learning environment. There's no reason to confine herself to only improving her medical skills. There's so much more she can… experiment with.

She tries directing like Dana.

("Dana file these and get me a coffee."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh! Sorry! I just meant, uh. Well, I was trying to—"

Dana glares at her for the rest of the day and Mel works three hours overtime catching up on charting.)

She tries connecting like McKay.

("The patient's mother passed so she won't be coming in today."

"My mother died," Mel says blankly.

"Oh. Uh. I'm— I'm sorry." McKay walks away awkwardly. They don't speak about family again.)

She tries instructing like Robby.

("You should stop interrupting when people tell you something."

Robby snaps. "If there's an urgent matter in my E.R., I'll interrupt who I like, Doctor King."

That shuts her up for the rest of the procedure, watching and carefully cataloging the steps rather than joining in. She tries not to flinch when Robby slams the door.)

She tries appealing like Whittaker.

("I need some help."

"Oh!" Whittaker startles a little. "Uh, with what?"

"Need new glasses. Any recommendations?"

"Uh. I don't have glasses?"

"Right. Yeah, of course. Sorry.")

She tries complimenting like Mohan. 

("You look nice today."

"Well, I feel like shit." Mohan grumbles, essentially ignoring her as she types.

Mel shuts up.)

She tries joking like Santos.

("I was looking through my facebook friends the other day," Trinity starts.

"You have friends?"

She gets a blank look, head tilted in confusion. "Yeah?"

"Kid-kidding. Just kidding. You were saying?" 

Santos scoffs and walks away, shaking her head.)

She even tries flirting like Garcia.

("Good work today, Doctor King." Garcia approaches her. "Ever think of going into surgery? We can always use more hot women who can sew."

Mel smiles. "Hot? Are you trying to have sex with me or something?" she laughs awkwardly, hoping she did it right.

Garcia laughs but Mel can hear the discomfort in it, possibly pity. She moves on without further banter.)

Nothing works. She tries emulating all her coworkers in different combinations, finding out who responds best to which type of conversation, testing the waters of friendliness when the opportunity presents itself. She tracks her progress and interactions in a carefully cultivated spreadsheet, color coded and with a key. The data she gathers is prolific but ultimately useless. It's no good knowing that Javadi laughs when she refers to herself in the third person or that Mohan smiles kindly when she mentions her sister or that Whittaker lights up when she talks about animals if she doesn't know what to do about it.

Nevertheless, it's somewhat thrilling of an experiment. Mel isn't a great actor, she knows this. But it's different to analyze patterns, emulate them the best she can. It's similar to med school, actually. And she finds ways to make it work in her favor.

"Doctor Abbot!" She runs up to him, grabbing his attention. "I wanted to talk to you about this case—"

"Can it wait? I've got a GSW coming in soon and—"

"No. I have a fibrillating heart not responding to shocks. South 20."

He looks her up and down, assessing. "On my way."

She nods once, follows him down the corridor. She likes Doctor Abbot. He listens and takes what she says as she says it, rather than finding some unsaid implication the way other people do. After some experimentation, she finds he best responds when she acts like Doctor Robby: blunt and clear.

The night shifts introduce her to a whole new cast of characters to draw from. It's enthralling and Mel is mindful to come back to herself more often. Occasionally acting like other people makes it easier to be herself the rest of the time. Her confidence increases and her patient satisfaction scores go up once she realizes she can apply her data there.

It would be asking too much to think her experimentation goes unnoticed.

"Doctor King," Robby calls to her as her shift is ending. She's standing by the lockers, getting her stuff so she's caught a little off guard. "Talk to you a minute?"

She smiles nervously. "Of course. What's the news, boss?"

He nods sharply, once. "Okay. That's the issue, actually. Some of the doctors have noticed a pattern of… strange behavior from you for the past few weeks. You're acting odd, not like yourself."

Mel is already shaking her head. "No, no. I'm just…." Humiliation twists in her gut and she forces Mohan's bravery into her chest. "I'm trying to connect with people better. The way… the way you all do."

Robby's expression is strained but he nods understandingly. "You're an excellent doctor, Mel. You don't have to act like someone you aren't."

Frustration snaps at the edges of her vision. "I'm not acting." Robby gives her a look and frustration boils up to anger. "I'm not. All due respect, you don't understand. I'm acting weird? People have been saying that my whole life so forgive me if I'm not exactly apologetic."

"I'm not asking for an apology," his hands come up placating, his voice gentle. Mel settles a little. "I'm just checking in, really. The people here, we care about you and want to make sure everything's all right, that's all. This isn't a reprimand, Doctor King. It's touching base."

Mel lets out a long breath, frustration vanishing in an instant. Robby is so therapeutic sometimes.

"I'm sorry," she says, aware of the irony. "I was just…."

Robby shakes his head. "Hey, I get it. I do. It's nice to be someone else for a while; step out of yourself. But I'm going away soon and I'd feel a whole lot better if I knew Doctor Melissa King was here while I'm gone."

Mel smiles. It's the closest she's gotten to someone seeing her, acknowledging her, since her very first day.

"Thank you." She nods firmly. "I'll be here. Me. As— as me."

Robby slaps a firm hand on her shoulder and Mel tries not to jump. "Glad to hear it."

For a while she does. She stops herself poking fun at Whittaker like Santos would, or reaching out to hold Javadi's hand as Mohan does. Status quo again. Normal.

Besides, the real point of the thing was to see how people reacted. Catalogue and analyze, make objective observations. Now that her data is gathered, there's really no reason to keep doing it.

So. She stops.

Mostly.

There are times when it's very helpful! If there's a particularly confrontational patient, it helps a lot to conjure up some of Dana's bravado. If there's a scared child, Doctor Mohan's empathy goes a long way. Thinking of Santos's practicality helps her make simple decisions daily.

So it isn't that it's purposeful anymore. It's like… with all the acting and imitating, the good qualities wormed their way into her habits. It's nice. Like taking parts of people, incorporating them into herself, tucked away like a memory.

No one really notices. Mel works hard and excels at it. Her life follows a strict routine, regular habits and twelve hour shifts give her life a calm, circadian rhythm. 

It's a regular day at work, a holiday even, when Mel hears his voice.

"You should always wear a helmet."

She perks up before spinning around, unbelieving. It's him! 

"Doctor Langdon!" She darts forward, aiming for a hug but remembering herself in the nick of time. Instead, she grabs his arm, shaking it once, looking around to everyone else excitedly. They don't seem as… enthusiastic as she is.

The crowd turns back to the patients but Mel stares at Langdon. He looks different. Better. He's clean shaven and his skin is brighter. Less sweaty, too. His eyes light up as he glances at her and Mel smiles back widely.

She's missed him. She wasn't even aware of it until she saw him again, but now that he's here, she can feel his absence over the past ten months like a hole in her stomach. He'd made her first day… well, not good. There was no way to make that a good day but he sure as heck made it easier.

It's strange, she wants to stick to him like glue now that he's back and she finds herself doing so at every convenience. 

The rest of the day is… stressful, to say the least. Between her deposition and Becca, Mel's wiped by the end of the day. She's on her way home when the thought strikes her.

She has no data on Langdon.

She stops short on the sidewalk, thinking. 

Pulling out her phone, she opens the spreadsheet under the streetlamp light. It's been untouched for weeks. The experiment is over. There's been no reason to update it or check her results. It's over.

Mel bites her fingernail, frowning at the gray, empty cells next to her carefully cultivated data. It seems unbalanced, now. Lacking.

Before she can think twice, she adds a column and locks her phone, slipping it back in her pocket.

It's about a minute before she can convince her legs to move again. No big deal.

It's purely scientific, really. Mel doesn't do well with imbalance, and now that Langdon is back, it's only fair she gathers data for him. The issue is doing it without anyone noticing.

"Doctor Langdon?"

He spins around, hands clutching his stethoscope, eyes wide. "Hey, Mel. What's up?"

"I've got a lethargic ten-year-old, collapsed at a trampoline park. LOC at the scene but is now responsive."

Langdon gestures for her to lead him and she does. "Blood pressure?"

"Eighty over sixty."

They enter the patient's room and Mel watches Langdon take vitals, conduct an examination, rule out the usual suspects. He works so diligently, it's really fun to watch. He thinks of things to ask that Mel never would and gets to a diagnosis much faster than she would.

On the way out, she nudges his shoulder playfully with her own. "Nice assessment."

He snaps his head over at her, eyes wide. "Uh, thanks. Repeated tumbling at the trampoline park, convulsive syncope makes sense and we can rule out TBI and seizures with labs. He can be discharged after a few hours observation."

Mel nods sharply. "You run the labs, I'll prep the next case. If you pass the staff lounge, get me a water, also."

Langdon blinks once. "Uh. Water?"

"Yes. Afterward, meet me at the charge desk." She watches him bluster and nod, rubbing his palms on his pants and walking away, glancing back at her once with his brows drawn.

Mel opens her phone. Slightly inconclusive but she makes a note of the interaction. When Langdon meets up with her at the charge desk, he holds out a small water bottle to her, not meeting her eyes. He's got a red bull of his own, sipping it idly as he looks at the board.

"Let me try."

"What?"

She plucks the drink from his hand, pressing her mouth to the lip of the can and takes a tentative sip.

"Yuck!" She sputters, chugging the water he brought her. "How do you stand that stuff?"

He doesn't answer. He's staring at the can like it's a dead patient.

Mel thinks, looks back at the board. She hits his chest lightly. "Chin lac, central seven. Come on."

She takes off and hears Langdon trip as he stumbles after her. He regains his composure by the time they reach the room.

"How are we doing today?" He addresses the patient amiably and Mel watches the examination.

He darts out of the room without a word once they're done and Mel further notes this in her spreadsheet. It seems directing him around like Dana has a less than positive effect. 

Still. She has more to try.

"Is your back okay?" The words startle out of her and only once they're in the air does Mel consider they might not be appropriate.

Langdon has been rubbing his lower back unconsciously for the past hour. Every time she passes him looking at the board, he's wincing slightly, knuckles digging into muscle desperately. They've just finished with an asthma attack and are charting together when he sits down with a little grunt, frowning as he twists his torso back and forth.

At her question, his whole body tenses and he sits ramrod straight in his swivel chair, unmoving. His eyes dart over to her, once, and then back to the screen.

"It's fine." His tone is measured. Flat. Like he's trying not to draw attention to it. Mel recognises this from Robby. His practiced deflections have become familiar to her and it's strange to recognize them in another.

Mel takes a moment to decide what the best response would be. She knows with Doctor Robby, a sharp nod and a helpful transitional conversation makes the situation much less awkward. This is Langdon, though.

"Becca had scoliosis when we were kids," she offers. It grabs his attention and he looks at her, curious. "She had to wear a brace. She hated it so much. It would help the spinal pressure but the metal would dig into her back and…" Mel shakes her head. Connect, she reminds herself. "I'd try and help her with warm compresses and massages but it never seemed to help. It sucked."

Langdon smiles softly at her, nodding. "Yeah," he scoffs a laugh. "It sucks. I'd kill for— uh. F-for a warm compress or massage right now." He stutters on his words midsentence.

There's heating pads in the supply closet but it's a little far so Mel steps forward, probing gently at his lower back, searching for the troublesome knot of muscle so she can work it out.

Abruptly, he groans when her fingers catch on a tense tendon but then she stumbles forward because he jumps off his chair, sending it rolling a little as he spins around and looks at her.

"What— uh, what are you doing?" he asks, eyes wide and confused. He's braced back against the desk, pushing himself into it like he's trying to force space between them.

She shakes her head, confused. "You, you said…."

His eyes widen even more and jaw drops a little. "I wasn't asking! Just, y'know, complaining." He laughs nervously and it sounds forced to Mel's ears. Every muscle in his body is still tense, shoulders drawn up to his ears.

Mel is pretty sure that for most people, complaining translates to asking. That's what she was going off of when she touched him, but she supposes it was a little abrupt. Always good to ask before touching, she reminds herself. She's a little surprised she didn't. She'd hate it if someone touched her without asking. Except Langdon, maybe. 

Huh.

She clears her throat. "Well, would you like me to massage it? It might help?"

He gapes at her, mouth opening in shock before he snaps it shut. His eyes glance around the rest of the E.R. skittishly and Mel can't really read him right now. Honestly, it's a bit of an overreaction on his part—she'd just been trying to connect with him a little.

"You, uh." He hesitates. "You wanna massage my back?"

She smiles, nodding. "If it will help!" 

He barks out a laugh unexpectedly, and jumps a little like it startled him. Clearing his throat, his fingers relax where they've been grabbing the desk. "Thanks, Mel. Really. Maybe some other time." He winces again but Mel can't tell why. Maybe his back flaring up again.

She shuffles off to her next case, stopping just once to type in her spreadsheet.

Alarmed by physical touch.

The patient is coding again, and his hands flail, grabbing violently at the gurney bars, the equipment, his IV, and finally, Mel's hair.

"Sedation!" She shouts, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice. The patient goes down and she hears something snap as he falls back on the bed. "Grab the AED and get Doctor Langdon!" she yells to the med students, preparing a tenblade for herself, knowing he won't arrive in time to start the procedure. 

She's alone in the trauma bay and just as she makes the first incision, something flickers at the edge of her vision. Her focus slips a little when she realizes it's her own hair, pulled loose from its braid by flailing hands. The beep of the heart monitor shocks her back to her task and she tries to shake the hair out of her face as she proceeds with the tissue separation.

The doors slam open and there's five people around her at once, asking for updates and handing her tools as she inserts the first chest tube.

"Sats falling, we need the thoracostomy now."

"Mel's doing it." Doctor Langdon says from behind her, firmly. He's the most senior resident in the room right now, but he lets Mel take charge. Her chest puffs at the responsibility. It bolsters her a little and she focuses deeper on the three square inches of skin she's cutting open, feeling around for the right ribs. 

"Kelly I need suction on this area. Phillips, get ten migs morphine and prep it for his IV. Doctor Langdon, assist."

She feels his warmth at her back, hovering as close as possible without touching. His hands reach out for the tools in her own. "I'll step in if you wanna—"

"I've got this. Hold my hair back. Kelly, why aren't we intubating?"

The med student hesitates. "The— the positive pressure from his lungs."

"Exactly, Phillips set up the morphine and get in here, you're going to sew in the tube."

Her adrenaline is high. She feels like a senior resident, ordering the med students around, instructing like Robby would.

"Your… your hair?" Langdon mutters softly at her side, hands hovering uselessly.

"Hold it back." He doesn't move. She can barely see with the way it's falling into her face. "Now!" 

Blue gloved hands push her hair out of her vision and wind back though her scalp. She sucks in a breath and refocuses, vision now clear to continue the procedure. Langdon's hands are warm and gentle in her hair. He's purposefully still, as though any move will make her flinch and code the patient.

The med students do well and Mel even lets them close up, hovering a little to double check their work, of course. The patient is stable again and she lets out a long breath, tipping her head backwards.

Hands shift on her head and she flinches a little.

"You can let go now," she tells him. 

Langdon pulls his hands away like he's been burned. "Right, sorry. Sorry for…" She smiles at him, adrenaline crashing slightly from all the excitement. They snap their gloves off and walk out into the hallway as one.

"It's okay. Your hands felt nice, actually. Calming."

His throat bobs. He rubs his palms on his scrubs and his hands twitch a little. The movement makes Mel grab some hand sanitizer, nodding towards it like he should do the same.

He does. And it sends a little thrill through her for some reason.

"Great job in there," he says seriously. "You kept your cool, taught the med students, and stabilized the patient crazy fast."

The praise makes her bloom and she smiles at him. "Thanks for coming to assist."

His eyes unfocus a little, like he's looking past her. It takes Mel a second to realize he's looking at her hair. It's loose around her shoulders, frizzy from his hands in it. Her hair tie is no doubt broken on the floor of the trauma bay.

She laughs a little self-consciously. "Not exactly surgery-safe. By the way…." It's a chance but she takes it. He responds to Robby's input well, why not her own? "You should obey faster when the operating doctor gives you an order. You wasted precious seconds hesitating."

Surprisingly, he takes the note in stride. Langdon shoves his hands in his pockets, nodding seriously. "You're right. I'll be quicker next time." 

She nods, pleased. With most of the others, any instruction she'd given was easily dismissed or pushed back on. He accepts it like the honest advice it is. It's nice to be listened to.

"Well, I'll let you…" he gestures broadly to her hair and then rubs the hand on the back of his neck. "Catch you later." He walks backward for a step or two, then swivels around and heads off to look at the board.

Braiding her hair only takes a minute so she goes on her phone while she has some time, sending off a text to Becca and checking which food places are open today.

In the spreadsheet she writes, responds well to instruction.

When you ask someone for help, it makes them like you on a psychological level. To an extent, of course. Little favors give people a chance to demonstrate their usefulness, make them feel important.

Robby and Abbot like when she asks for help. They say it's a critical attribute to be able to speak up when you need help. Santos always rolls her eyes but helps her all the same. Mohan always takes her aside, leading her through a few deep breaths before moving on. Whittaker stutters though guesses at what might help. 

What Mel means to say is everyone is very caring and supportive when she asks. She has no complaints. All it takes is a soft request and her colleagues back her up, no questions asked. She does the same when she can, but no one really asks her for help. When she offers it freely, she feels it goes a little unappreciated.

No one offers her help without being asked.

She's finishing up with a patient, easy broken leg headed off to the ortho department.

"Alright! Well, make sure you keep an eye on it in case there's any more pain."

The woman smiles at her. "Thank you! You've been so kind, let me give you some friendly advice?"

"Oh! Um, sure."

"Get your moles checked. I noticed you have a few and those can become cancerous faster than that." The woman snaps.

Mel smiles gently. "I get them checked regularly, don't worry. But thank you."

The woman leans in conspiratorily. "My aunt had one on her back that she couldn't see. The doctors didn't find it in time. Passed away a few months ago. You never know."

They wheel her away but Mel stays standing in the room for a minute, frozen.

Most of her anxiety is about social situations. Saying the wrong thing, reading the room, being mean on accident. Working in the medical profession, having experience with everyone from hypochondriacs to stubborn anti-vaxxers, she is very rarely affected by health-related worries.

She is not, however, exempt.

Heart beating fast, she draws the curtain and sits down on the bed, pressing fingers to her radial to take her pulse. It feels fast. The world is a little fuzzy and she thinks this may be what a heart attack feels like until the term 'panic attack' springs to her mind.

Distantly, she hears the curtain slide open and someone muttering, then it slides again and a firm hand settles on her shoulder. She looks up at Doctor Langdon, his eyes wide in concern, searching hers.

A stuttering breath brings her back to herself further and she hears him talking to her.

"Mel, what's going on? Are you hurt?"

"No," she whispers, clearing her throat. "No, I'm fine. Just needed a minute."

Langdon's face relaxes, he smiles carefully at her, pulls the swivel chair over to the bed and sits on it. 

"Okay," he says. He's holding her fingers, barely touching them but pressing firmly. "Okay, I'm here. Let me help."

The words send a little shock through her. She thinks back, pretty sure she didn't ask him to sit with her or say she needed anything.

"I'm— I'm okay. Really." And it's true, now.

Langdon frowns. "What, uh. Only if you want to say, but— What happened?"

Mel shakes her head. "Patient told me to get my moles checked. She said I can't see the ones on my back so I won't know if they're dangerous. Freaked me out a little, that's all."

"You don't get them checked?"

"No, I do! Sorry, it's stupid." She's a doctor, for God's sake. She knows how to assess health risks.

"It's not stupid." His voice is firm.

"I just don't like not being able to assess myself on something and I guess it was a reminder that I'm not—"

"I could assess you?"

Mel trails off lamely, positive she misheard him or at least misunderstood.

"You mean, like…. Um. What do you mean?"

Langdon blinks, mouth opening silently and looking down at his hands, considering them. He swallows thickly. 

"If you're worried, I mean. I can help."

He smiles again, a soft, placating thing that eases her stuttering pulse.

A different kind of panic sweeps her suddenly as fantasies drift through her mind. Langdon lifting up her shirt, the pads of his fingers pressing over her moles, thumbs brushing the nape of neck. His attention a pinpoint focus on her skin, eyes blaring into her back like flames licking up her spine as his palms dance down the curve of it. Goosebumps popping up and him soothing them down, muttering softly in her ear as he continues his exam. Playing Doctor.

Mel twitches abruptly, pulling her arms over her stomach where something flips and flutters.

"Thank you," she says quickly. "But I'm okay."

Langdon nods, brow furrowed and eyes on the floor. "Of course. I didn't mean to overstep." He looks mad at himself now. Embarrassed. 

"No!" She reaches out to him, grabbing his hand before she can think twice. He meets her eyes. "No, really, I appreciate it. Just." She brushes her thumb over the back of his hand and smiles when he squeezes back. "I'm feeling better now."

He huffs a laugh. "Glad to hear it. Just remember. I'm always here if you need anything."

Her stomach flutters and the sentiment settles in it like a stone. He leaves her eventually, promising to meet up on the next case and Mel pulls out her phone. It's a compulsion by now to make a note after interacting with him.

With Langdon, she doesn't need to ask for help. He offers it freely.

Compliments are easy. Everyone responds pretty much the same. A small smile, an awkward "thank you" or occasionally some kind of deflection (Robby). Mel has gotten better at knowing when and how to compliment. Her job makes it pretty easy most of the time. The best way is usually something as simple as saying "well done" when someone makes a clever diagnosis or "excellent work" when an intubation goes efficiently.

When she's feeling brave, she'll give personal compliments. Those always are more of a risk but return a much higher payoff if she times it right.

"Your hair is nice today, Doctor Santos," earns her a rare smile. "Nice shoes, Whittaker," lets her hear a whole story on Payless deals. "Your son is so charming," gives her a whole new perspective on how long McKay can talk about something.

Results are consistent and interpretable. Mel's favorite.

But now there's a hole in her data. With Langdon, the opportunities to compliment are few and far between. When she does get a chance, she hesitates too long—he's so quick and jumpy he's off to the next thing before she can get the words out. She tries complementing his doctoring, his diagnoses. He never seems to hear it as a compliment; only as a matter of fact. Mel can't tell if it's insecurity or ego. Either way, her attempts aren't working. She needs to shake him up somehow. Catch him off-guard.

One day, a stomachache patient complains of shortness of breath and Langdon has the genius call to run an EKG, spotting an irregularity that almost went unnoticed. The patient is rushed into the trauma bay when he starts seizing. It's a great save but they're not out of the woods yet.

It takes an hour to stabilize the patient. Langdon has to do CPR the whole time while everyone else gathers around the stomach wound. They don't have enough hands to trade off. Mel hands tools to Abbot and throws away lap pads frantically. 

Mostly she watches Langdon. His hair is wet with sweat by the time the patient goes up to the OR and he's panting like he ran a mile.

"Well," she says when they're alone in the trauma room, everyone else cleared out to help the next patient.

He nods once, breathlessly. His face is pink and shiny. Mel looks at him with a sort of wonder. She's never seen him so out of it before. It's rather exciting.

They leave the room and she watches Langdon make an abrupt turn towards the lockers, looking around once before rounding the corner. Curious, she follows after him. The further she gets, the more she realizes what a good opportunity this would be to compliment him. He'd just made a great catch and saved someone's life. Everyone else is occupied so they won't be disturbed.

Before entering the locker room, she takes a deep breath, steeling herself to talk to him properly.

She opens her mouth and her words freeze in her throat.

Langdon is standing in front of his locker, back to Mel, scrub shirt in one hand, the other reaching back behind his neck and pulling off his undershirt by the neckline, bunching it into a ball and wiping his face. His back muscles ripple with the movement and Mel looks at the bumps of his spine as he bends down, searching for something in his floor locker. 

Whatever she had been planning to say slips away like smoke. The locker room is stifling all of a sudden and Mel feels as warm as Langdon looks, beads of sweat dripping down his back.

He stands again, holding a new shirt and a water bottle. He uncaps the latter, tilting his head back and turning to lean against the lockers, eyes shut as he drinks. He doesn't manage to get all of it in his mouth and Mel watches, entranced as little beads of water slide from his mouth, down his throat.

Either Mel makes a noise or Langdon just stops drinking because his eyes shoot open and widen when they meet her own. He coughs on the water, doubling over and hitting his chest once, twice.

"Mel!" He chokes out. "What— what are you doing in here?"

It takes her a moment to reply. His chest has hair. Dark and thick, and it trails down his stomach, his abs, leading down between his hipbones and towards—

"Nothing!" She yelps, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. She decides that's an overreaction and she opens them, keeping them firmly glued to the ceiling. "Just— wanted to check in with you. Tell you it was a good save, that's all."

Her eyes flick down to him, gauging his reaction. He's frozen, much like her. Water bottle and shirts in his hands, mouth agape and eyes nervous, like he doesn't know what to do.

Mel clears her throat and Langdon twitches at the sound.

"Sorry," she tries, not feeling particularly sorry but it seems like the right thing to say.

"Oh, God, Mel. I'm so sorry. I figured everyone would be busy with the backlog from the trauma, I didn't bother going all the way to the bathroom 'cause I just needed a second and I was drenched from the sweat and I couldn't—"

He rambles on but Mel isn't really listening. He's gesturing wildly and the movement draws attention to his arms, the flex of his biceps, the cut of his abs. His abs…. Mel can see the outline of his ribs when he takes a gasping breath between sentences. He doesn't think to put on the shirt, somehow.

It's bizarre. She feels like a voyeur watching him as he rushes to explain himself, unaware of how little she's listening to him right now.

Abruptly, something occurs to her. Now is that good opportunity she's been waiting for.

"Doctor Langdon, It's okay," she says, holding up a placating hand to stop him. His mouth snaps shut. "Do you maybe want to get dressed?"

This snaps him out of his daze and he looks down at his hands. In a flash, he caps the bottle, throwing it in his locker as he scrambles to get dressed. His shoulder muscles move fluidly as he dons his shirt and Mel watches the material flutter over his stomach. It looks like it sticks to his skin, still sweaty.

"Sorry," he mutters. His scrub top slides on easily.

With his clothes back on, Mel's mind clears a little. She shakes her head. "I didn't mean to walk in on you. Besides, you have nothing to be sorry for. You're very attractive."

He gapes at her a little, blinking. "Attractive?" He's still a little breathless from his earlier exertion and no doubt the surprise of being caught changing.

Mel nods. "Your muscles look extremely well-maintained. And prominent chest hair is linked to higher testosterone levels, attractive by nature of being a secondary sexual characteristic. Chest hair also aids in the mechanical amplification of t-touch. Can also increase pheromone production and—"

She needs to shut up fast but the words just keep coming.

"—sometimes even linked to higher virility. Plus, your muscles were probably activated from the CPR and are more prominent right now and who doesn't like muscles, right?" She shakes her head rapidly, like shaking water from her ears. She resets. "Anyway, I should be apologizing. I wanted to tell you, well done with the patient. You're really on top of things."

He's staring at her like she just grew wings.

"I'm gonna give you space. See you out there!" She turns on her heel and takes off before he can say anything.

The ER sounds like a cacophony compared to the locker room and Mel steps into it gladly, instantly ushered off to help Santos with a colicky nine-month-old.

Later, when she has time, she opens her spreadsheet and stares at the compliments column. She decides there's no nice way to put oblivious to everything except physical flattery so instead she writes, inconclusive and decides further research is needed. (If she adds some private notes in parenthesis, that's between her and Excel.)

She does not think about Langdon, shirtless and sweaty, panting from exhaustion, wet hair flicking in his eyes, gulping down water as his jaw works desperately. She doesn't.

The one type of interaction that no one has responded to well is joking. From Mel specifically, obviously. She watches them joke with each other, laughing and smiling and easily trading rapport without a second thought. She even gets a few laughs now and again but only when she doesn't mean to.

When she tries to actively be a part of the joke….

Mel has put a big X through the joking column in her spreadsheet. She settles for making people laugh inadvertently, usually at her rather than with her. It's something she's come to terms with. This is only because she gathered enough data on the phenomenon and is confident with her interpretation of the results.

Now… there's a missing piece. Captain Scurvy, himself had to show back up and throw a wrench in her carefully cultivated data. She looks at the missing X in his column, thumbing over it, tongueing at it like a missing tooth.

"Morning, Mel," he startles her, sending her fumbling to click off her phone. "Jumpy this morning, are we?"

"No more than you everyday."

A surprised smile breaks out over his face. "You think I'm jumpy?"

She considers this. It's not true. Sure, he'd been jumpy on her first day, but now there's an uncomfortable explanation for that. One she isn't eager to talk about. Besides, he's not like that anymore. "Not jumpy. Energetic, maybe."

"Breakfast of coffee and red bull tends to do that."

"Maybe you should switch to tea and soda."

He shakes his head. "I'll take the stimulants I can get, thank you. What about you? You have coffee yet?"

Mel shakes her head. "Don't drink it."

"How you survive a twelve hour E.R. shift uncaffeinated, I'll never know."

"Determination and years of training." She takes a chance. "I'm sure you'll get there, one day, Doctor Langdon."

He laughs once, sharply and loudly, head tilting back. Mel tries not to bounce up and down at the sound.

"With your profound instruction, Doctor King, I'm sure I will." He gives her a mock bow, looking up with a smirk as he bends.

Mel is practically vibrating with delight. 

The ambulance bay doors open and they rush toward the action. Langdon pulls her with him with his hand to the small of her back, brushing up for a second before it's gone.

Huh.

Later, Mel makes the first note in the joking column under his name.

Laughs at my jokes.

She has to amend this after a few more occurrences because she spots another pattern.

"Finished up with the ear laceration."

"Heard," he smiles at his own joke and looks at her expectantly. Mel thinks it's kind of obvious, not especially laugh-worthy. Langdon clears his throat, looking chastened by her silence. "How'd it go?"

"Good! He's being discharged now. Only needed three stitches."

Langdon drums obnoxiously on the charge desk. "Let's see… Mister Roday, forty-three, unexplained projectile vomiting and a bad attitude according to reception. Want in?"

Mel perks up. She likes when he summons her to a case with him. "Only if you stand in front of me."

His surprised laugh echoes around them and she's riding the high that her joke has caused when he reaches out, shoving lightly at her shoulder, thumb pinching the fabric of her scrubs before he runs his hand down her arm, tugging her along.

"C'mon. You're with me."

"Yes." She follows him, buzzing. "I'm with you."

It takes one more time for her pattern recognition to kick in. They're in the break room, Langdon sipping his coffee while Mel tries to eat a sandwich faster than is probably healthy.

"You can't anesthetize a full stomach. Not as effectively, at least," she reminds him gently.

"That's why we induced vomiting first. I know, I know. Minor trauma to the esophagus but worth it so we could treat properly."

"Risky," Mel shakes her head a little.

"Well it paid off. He's headed up to the ICU now." He throws his head back, gulping the energy drink and Mel doesn’t watch the long line of his throat bob, his jaw work, his hand wipe his mouth with a sigh. 

She jumps when he talks again. 

"You okay? You look…" he trails off and Mel frowns. She looks a mess, she knows. Her hair is frizzy and half out of her braid, glasses smudged. She’s pretty sure there’s a scratch on her cheek. He's been kind not to mention it this long.

"Grabby kid. Almost spilled orange juice on me, too. I'm lucky this is the only damage." She pulls her braid to the side, looking at him pathetically. "Only an hour left in the shift. Not worth fixing it now."

He shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "The damage isn't too bad, Doctor King. Some IV fluids should perk you right up."

She looks down at the braid, frowning. "We may have to amputate."

He chuckles warmly, and reaches out a hand to grab the end of her braid, turning it back and forth, play-inspecting. "Consult with your surgeon about rotationplasty, that might help."

"At least the cheek lac is manageable."

He furrows his brow and leans forward. To her surprise, his thumb comes up and strokes over her cheekbone, whispering over the small cut she'd sustained earlier. It knocks her a little off-balance but his tone is still joking when he says, "We can sew that up right here in the E.R.! Got some of the best seamstresses in the country here."

His thumb is still on her cheek and she struggles to continue the joke. Something cold brushes by her ear and Mel flinches. His wedding ring. The hand disappears and he sits back, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Uh. Sorry."

She frowns. "For what?"

He opens his mouth but then closes it, reconsiders. "That you got all scuffed up like a three-year-old's new toy. Believe me, I know the feeling."

She's about to ask how his kids are doing when their heads perk up at the sound of rolling wheels and they stand up to leave the lounge in sync.

On their way out, Mel mutters, "Any new patient comes in under the age of ten, you take them."

Langdon laughs. "Gladly."

And before the door closes behind him, Mel registers a soft squeeze on her shoulder, light and quick and gone in an instant.

She stops as Langdon rushes off, finally putting two and two together.

Touches me when I make him laugh.

Mel is not going to try flirting. She decided this weeks prior when an ill-timed remark sent Whitaker blushing from the room and Santos laughing at her the rest of the day. She can't do it. It doesn't come naturally. She certainly can't attempt it with Langdon. It's hard enough talking to him about personal things and ignoring the fluttering in her chest. Every interaction feels like a flirt when he flashes her that stupid cocky smile.

Plus he's married. 

Married….

So! She falls back on the other options. It only takes her a month to gather enough data on Langdon to consider her spreadsheet complete.

Most of the interactions she has with him that involve the experiment tend to end with him flustered and confused. So she dials it back. She goes back to normal, as Robby had asked her to all that while ago.

Langdon doesn't appear to notice a difference. If anything he seems more friendly with her now that she's not acting strange every so often. 

It's always, "Mel, hop on this with me. Need your input." Or, "Great catch, Mel. C'mon, got a hard one coming in next." And even, "What are your plans this weekend? Anything exciting with Becca? Tell me about it."

He takes a real interest in her and Mel starts to feel less like a coworker and more like a friend. The experiment helped her truly understand that he likes her as her, not some poor amalgamation of other people crudely assembled. 

It goes both ways, of course. Mel likes Langdon. As a friend. He makes her laugh and backs her up and helps her out. They've become closer than she expected. It's comfortable. The boundary around her is clear cut, a shining golden band.

Then,

"Doctor Langdon?" She approaches him in the ambulance bay after their shift. It was a late one for everyone and he's standing still in the low light, staring at his phone with a frown.

He looks up at her when she calls and his face relaxes into a soft smile.

"Hey, Mel." His voice is low and… tender? Mel can't quite place the emotion she hears.

"Everything okay?" She gestures down to where he's sliding his phone in his pocket.

"Just…. Family stuff."

She nods. A wife and two kids must be a lot to manage. Mel has her own issues taking care of just one person. She can't imagine three.

It occurs to her she should probably say something like, "Do you want to talk about it?"

His shoulders tighten up at that. He bounces on the balls of his feet for a moment. It's what he does when he can't decide on which treatment to recommend. He seems to come to a decision because his shoulders drop and he sighs.

"Abby doesn't want me to pick up the kids tonight."

Mel frowns. It's a little late for them to be out. Maybe a late-night daycare of some kind? Or a friend watching them?

Langdon seems to pick up on her confusion.

"She doesn't want me to pick them up from her house… and take them to my apartment tonight. She says it's too late."

"Oh. Your— you have an apartment?" Seems a bit of a waste. To have a house and an apartment. Maybe he has a place to crash near the hospital when he has to work multiple days in a row. His sullen expression makes Mel think otherwise.

"Yeah. Had it for about ten months. Give or take."

Unconsciously, her eyes slip to his hands where they squeeze the strap of his bag. His wedding ring gleams at her tauntingly.

Tauntingly? Normally. Expectedly.

He follows her gaze and shifts, rubbing his hands together, twisting the golden band with his thumb.

"Yeah, I, uh." He laughs humorlessly. "Guess I just didn't want to explain it to people." He slips the ring off his finger easily. Too easily. Like the movement is practiced and habitual. 

Oh! Mel's stomach flips nervously. Her head is fuzzy, like the moment is charged in a way she doesn't understand. The ambulance bay hums in the darkness.

In one smooth motion, he's erased the boundary she had drawn between them in her mind. All of a sudden, he's too close. Too warm. Too gentle.

Mel takes a small step to her right, playing off as just shifting her weight.

Still, she has to ask.

"You're…" She's not sure how to say it. If she even should say it. She settles on, "Abby?"

Langdon's shoulders drop. "She left me." It leaves him in a swift breath. "God, I've never said it out loud. It was a while ago. Back when…." He trails off a little but Mel is pretty sure she knows.

"I'm sorry," she says, because she probably should. Not that she's not sorry! Is she? She can't tell.

Focus.

"Uh, so you still get your kids?" God, she hopes that's appropriate to ask. Her brain is a little behind with this whole conversation.

Langdon sighs, smiling. "Yeah. Thank fuck. I don't know what I would've done if…. Anyway. They were supposed to be with me tonight, but. Guess that's not happening."

Mel nods. "That sucks."

"It does suck." He looks at her properly now, gentle, gentle, gentle. "Thanks, Mel."

Warmth blossoms in her chest at his words. "Anytime, Doctor Langdon."

His expression twists a little; Mel can't tell if it's good or bad until he says, "You can… You don't have to call me that, y'know."

"Your… name?"

He laughs, though she isn't sure what's funny. "Doctor," he clarifies. "I don't exactly call you Doctor King all the time."

"That's true," she allows. "But you're technically my superior."

Now when his expression twists, Mel is positive it's bad. His whole face screws up like he just ate sour berries.

"I mean, barely. Not really, since I had to repeat my R4 year. We're… colleagues at least."

"Not… friends?"

He turns toward her purposefully. He seems to be leaning into her, like he can't bear to be as far as he is. Maybe that's wishful thinking. "Yeah, Mel. We're friends. Of course, we're friends."

Then he reaches out, grabs her hand. His fingers are warm where they squeeze her palm. There's no cold bite from a ring because he's tucked it away in his pocket.

Mel shudders. She grips his hand like a vice, scared if she lets go he'll slip away. It's only a little scary when he returns the grip, smiling at her like this is all perfectly normal.

They stand in the ambulance bay for a long moment, holding hands. Mel tells herself it's normal.

It's one thing to have a crush on a married man. The guilt was overpowering but internal and contained. Comfortable in the knowledge that nothing was going to happen because Mel doesn't pursue married men.

It's striking to find out Langdon hasn't been married for a while. Practically the whole time she's known him. 

That night, she stares at the spreadsheet for hours. All the data feels corrupted. Skewed by this unseen development.

What kind of weirdo doesn't tell people he's divorced?! Separated. Whatever.

Mel looks through her findings with fresh eyes and a new possibility occurs to her in the dark. The flirting column taunts her, now.

Married, she'd told herself. He's married so there's no point.

But he's not married and reading through what she's written suddenly feels heavier. Damning.

Obeys my directions.

Alarmed by physical touch.

Responds to instruction well.

Offers help without me asking.

Inconclusive. (Likes me complimenting his (hot, hot, sexy, oh god) body.)

Touches me when I make him laugh.

There's more. Notes in the margins with little observations about moments he smiled or touched her leg at a joke or winked at her secretly. All the little interactions that had spiked her blood pressure and flooded her with endorphins. She's written down nice things, too. Soft things. The way he pulls her chair out for her in the break room. How his eyebrows go up when he asks if she's okay. His unwavering loyalty when it comes to medical decision-making.

The spreadsheet feels like evidence of a betrayal. Mel debates deleting it for a long moment. The guilt of her crush is rapidly replaced by the guilt of this secret. 

Fine! There's only one moral course of action, Mel knows. If she doesn't tell him, the guilt will get worse— grow inside her and spread like a virus until it consumes her.

She sleeps fitfully, dreading the morning.

By some cruel twist of fate, it's a slow day. Scrapes and bruises and a few broken bones. The trauma rooms are empty and she catches Santos yawning multiple times. Abbot looks more drained than he does on busy days and Mel isn't too surprised. When you're used to chaos, peace can be exhausting.

There's only a few hours left when she steps out to the stairwell to text Becca and bumps into Langdon, typing something on his phone.

Ah. Perfect.

She looks back once to be sure she's not followed. She won't be for a while. Everyone is taking the break while they can. They won't be disturbed and Mel takes a deep breath. Then she tilts her head purposefully at him.

"Got a second?"

He locks his phone, smiles at her.

"Seems like I got a lot more than that. What's up?"

Anxiety boils in her stomach. God, she really wishes she didn't have to do this. Best to do it quick, like ripping off a band-aid.

"So, I had kinda been collecting information on how all our coworkers react to different kinds of social interactions and logging the data in a spreadsheet for months and when you came back I realized I didn't have any data on you so I started collecting it for a while and you shared a really deep and personal secret with me and I felt awful keeping this from you so…"

She thrusts her phone into his hands before she can think better of it. He looks a little struck and it takes him a second to look down at the screen. She can see the second he understands what he's looking at, eyes going wide and jaw dropping.

"Jesus, Mel." His eyes flick over the screen and she tries not to wince as he swipes. "This is…"

She braces herself. He looks slightly uncomfortable. Which part is he reading? She forces herself not to grab her phone back, flexing her hands at her sides, letting him look his fill.

"I know," she says. "I thought it would help.

"Why is the flirting cell empty?"

That… is not what she expected him to say.

"Um. Because until yesterday I thought you were a happily married man?" 

He shakes his head, almost disbelieving "No, that's not what I mean."

This conversation isn't going the way she thought it would. "What do you mean?"

The way he's looking at her— like she's just diagnosed an intracranial hemorrhage as a nosebleed.

"Mel. You've been flirting with me for weeks."

The floor drops out from under her. "W-what?"

He laughs, a little crazily. "At least, that's what I thought you were doing. In your own Mel-ly way. I mean, you talked about how hot I look with my shirt off."

"Definitely not what I said."

"And you made me put my hands in your hair."

"That was for a procedure."

"Mel, you gave me a back massage at the nurse's station. I didn't even ask."

That one shuts her up. She's kind enough not to mention that he basically asked—at least implied.

"Oh," she says instead. "I guess all that does count as flirting, doesn't it." His shoes become very interesting and she drops her gaze, bashful.

"Hey," he steps closer and one of his hands comes up to lift her chin. God, his eyes are so blue.

"Sorry if I made you uncomfortable," she says. This is so embarrassing. If she could, she'd run but her feet feel glued to the floor.

Langdon scoffs, shaking his head. "You didn't. Mel—" The hand on her chin travels to her cheek, thumbing gently under her eye. "You didn't," he repeats purposefully.

Oh.

"Really?" Wow, she hopes she's reading this right. "Then… can I—"

His hand snakes around to the back of her head and pulls her in, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted. Their lips meet, softly and urgently at the same time. He pulls at her like he's drowning, holding her against him so tightly she can hardly breathe. His tongue whispers at her lips, not deep but enough to send heat down her spine. One of his legs steps forward, putting the slightest amount of pressure between her own and Mel thinks she might yelp because he gentles the kiss, pulling back a little while pushing his hands into her hair to soothe her. There's a strange pressure and Mel realizes he's still holding her phone. She huffs a laugh against him.

"Here—" She pulls back, ignoring the way his body tries to follow her, leaning forward until he's forced to stumble as she retreats. "Give me that."

Dazed, he relinquishes the phone. It doesn't look like there's a single thought in his head as he stares at her, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown.

"Fuck," he whispers, voice low and gruff. Mel twitches at the sound. Not in a bad way.

"Yes. I agree." His eyes open a little wider, surprised, and Mel hastily corrects herself. "I mean, with the sentiment. That was… that was good. Yes?"

He drops his head down, shakes it. "Jesus, Mel. Yeah. Yes, that was… that was fucking good." His voice drips with sincerity and vulnerability and something else she's scared to think too hard about.

"Good." She smiles at him. Feeling brave, she leans forward and gives him another kiss, this one quick and chaste and he tries to chase it when she pulls away.

They stand in the dim stairwell for a long moment, looking at each other.

"That, uh. That's some experiment, you got there," he says in a soft laugh, but Mel can hear the insecurity in his tone.

"That's not what this is." She holds his hand; squeezes it.

He breathes in relief, stroking back. "Still. That list."

Mel blushes. "I know, I know. It's weird."

"It's hot."

Oh. What?

She racks her brain, trying to figure out what he means. Her struggle gets noticed because Langdon scoffs and says.

"Something about being observed like that. Noticed." He shrugs. "It feels good. Also, 'responds well to instruction'? Fuck, Mel, say the word and I'll bark for you."

This surprises a laugh out of her and his smile grows wider at the sound. She hadn't thought of the experiment as intimate in the way he's insinuating. Now that he's put it in context, a thrill shoots up her spine at the idea of collecting more data— more physically focused results.

When a nurse pushes the door open and ascends the stairs, they jump apart guiltily.

Right.

The reminder is painful and Mel looks down at her shoes.

"I don't think—"

"We don't have to tell anyone," Langdon interrupts. He backtracks immediately. "I mean, I'm not assuming that there's anything to tell. Not that there isn't anything! I want there to be. Obviously. I just don't want to make you uncomf-umph—"

Mel crashes into him. He relaxes into the kiss immediately, like the thin string holding him back snapped at the contact. They shouldn't be doing this here. They really can't do this at work if the way his hands quickly migrate to her waist, the way she melts into him easily, the way it turns frantic in a heartbeat is any indication.

She has to push him away bodily, hands braced against his chest.

"We won't tell anyone. Yet. We finish the shift and then… you can take me to dinner."

It wasn't a question but Langdon nods stupidly. He looks utterly and completely struck. Mel spares a second to feel sorry for any patients he has for the rest of the shift. She doubts he'll be able to focus as usual, but he's a damn good doctor. It's one of the things she loves about him.

Oh. 

Mel gulps, unwilling to examine that little revelation just yet. Not with everything so new and confusing and fast-paced.

Time has been ticking away and they really need to get back inside. She tells him as much and he nods again, bounces on the balls of his feet. He shoves his hands in his pockets and Mel doesn't miss the way he adjusts his pants.

She focuses back on the present. "After you, Doctor Langdon."

They both freeze, unsure. She can see the offer in his eyes and pats herself on the back for knowing what he's going to say before he says it. Still, he looks pained and she spares him the effort.

"Frank," she corrects. It feels strange in her mouth. New and intimate and exciting and forbidden. Her hands flex at her sides.

It's thrilling to watch his pupils dilate in real time, his jaw go a little slack and eyes look at her like she hung the moon.

He catches himself and shakes his head like a wet dog, plastering a cocky smile on his face as he holds open the door for her. "Doctor King," he tips his head to her gallantly as she passes. 

She allows herself one giggle and one brush of his shoulder before locking back into her work. 

The rest of the shift, Mel feels like she's been given a morphine button with no cut-off limit. When she meets Langdon—Frank, she reminds herself—out in the parking lot after the shift, they barely get in the car before they're kissing again. Mel isn't sure they'll make it to dinner at this rate but she doesn't stop it.

In the comfortable silence as they drive, holding hands on the center console, she takes a moment to appreciate how lucky she is that it all worked out like this. The experiment could've easily gone horribly. He could've yelled at her, told everyone, never wanted to talk to her again. She pats herself on the back for approaching the task of research the way she did.

Mel may be totally oblivious, but no one can deny her results.